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THE ANDERSON INTEL LIGENCER,
IS ISSUED EVERY THURSDAY, AT
ONE DOILAS A YEAE, IN ADVANCE.
SSf If delayed six months, SI. 50 ; and $2.00
- at the end of the year.
HOYT, Sc HU3IPIIREYS,
EDITORS AND PROPRIETORS. I
Advertisements inserted at modora:c rates; liberal
deductions mado to those who will ldvcrtise by the
The Poisoned Almond.
Tho hosts of England had fled, smitten
Und shattered, from the fatal rifles of the
Americans, and the glad tidings had leaped
from the red field of battlo to the anxious
hearts of the citizens of JJfew Orleans. As
?night came down upon the rescued, the
glare of huge bonfires, the flashing of dan
ting torches, and the glitter of innumera?
ble lamps, with jubilant shoi'.ts, cries, and
exultant laughter, that met eve and ear
at every turn, betokened tho victor's tri?
umph. The humble home of the artisan,
and the proud mansion of the rich alike
shone with the light, and resounded with
sounds of joy. But no homes was so gay
and resplendent as that of the wealthy
and hospitable General Dain'eiuert; whose
twin-born sous had that day been fore?
most in the battle, and who were now
fresh from victory to sec their only sister
wedded to William Avern, a young and
distinguished captain of the Tennessee ri?
Long before Packenham gave his sol?
diers the bandit watchword of " Booty
and Beaut}-," "William Avern and Clara
Daincmert had pledged the r vows; and
their loves having gained the willing con?
sent of the General, the day that should
See them united had been fixed upon, and
that day was the 8th of Jai.uaty; though
when tho time was appointed, none
dreamed that it was to bo a day of battle.
Ilonored and unscathed, tin young Tcn
ncssecan had ridden from the field as the
enemy turned in defeat and dismay, and
with old white-haired Daincmert and his
warrior boys, had hastened to bear the
happy news to mother, sister and betroth?
"She shall be yours this night, my
deal* William," said tho old General, as
they drew rein before his house. " What'
happier dale for a marriage anniversary
than that which shall be a:natron'spride.
Ha ! the good news is bef'ove us," he. con?
tinued, as his wife aiuL- daughter sprang
irom the house to gr^ffniiu.
" Thank-heaven ! you havo all returned
safe in life tlnd limb," was the exclama?
tion of the wife and mothoiv as she em?
braced her husband and sons.
" Thank the God of battles that He has
given our country the victoiy !" was the
jresponso of the stout old patriot.
The lovers uttered not o, word, but the
beaming of their eyes spoke volumes ot
But if the joy of the lovers found no
tongue, the clamorous anc hearty shouts
of the ebon-visageel servants, clustering
around with eager faces that shone in the
torchlight, made amplo amends.
" I have a promise to fulfil," said the
General, " ami we must invite our friends
as fast as legs can carry messages. Wil?
liam is to wed Clara this night. Come,
wife, you are nimble with the pen ; write
to those who stand upon etiquette, and
andhnrry off Verbal imitations to tho
rest. Send for your brid jsmaids, Clara;
my sons shall bo your groomsmen, Wil?
liam. I would that your father were
alive to see this happy day! You spring
from a race of soldiers, my dear boy, and
this campaign has proved you worthy of
This was spoken as the General led the
way.into his parlor, and every word was
heard by a dark-faced and haughty young
man,'who rose from a sofa as they enter?
" Well, nephew, we won the fight, and
Homy St. Maur was not there," said the
General, with a severe glance, as the young
man met his eye.
" Henry St. Maur, wh Dn taken prison?
er at Detroit," replied h.s nephew," pled?
ged his word not to bear arms against
England during this war. But my heart
was with yon, all unclo."
"If I had been at Detroit," retorted tho
old patriot, " and if I ha d been Henry St.
Maur, I'd remained a cr.ptivc rather than
accept liberty with my sword in -limbo.
But make ready, my beys, for the wed?
ding ! Be merry and happy while you |
So saving the noble old soldier hasten?
ed to change his. dress; while his sons,
with William Avern, hurried to their
apartments to exchange their war-stain?
ed garb for garments Defitting tho occa?
Homy St. Maur, a coward in heart and
a, villain in mincL^had long loved his cous?
in Clara/hotf for the wealth that would
be hers, and for her lovely person. He
was the son of the General's youngest si?
ter, and his father had been a French offi?
cer, who had served under Lafayette.
Both father and mother sprung from a
brave and warlike line, but the son had
inherited none of their nobler traits.
A shrewd schemer, a cowardly plotter,
I and a?selfish, unscrupulous man, St. Maur
had lived thirty years and not done one
worthy deed. The name and influence
of his uncle had obtained for him a cap?
tain's commission, but the tap of the drum
ana the fume of gunpowder always drove
his watery blood from his checks. Glad
to forsake the field for the carpet, he had
returned to his uncle's to push his suit for
the hand of Clara Dainemcrt. But he
met blank repulse; for it was already
pledged to the brave and handsome "Wil?
liam Avern, a young man of noble char?
acter and rising fame. Had he dared St.
Maar would have fought his rival for the
prize; but his craven soul instinctively
shrank from a combat with tho }Toung
Tennessecan. St. Maur had already
enough wealth to content any but a mer?
cenary spirit, but grasping eagerly for
more, and infatuated with the beauty of
his cousin, he would have sold his salva?
tion to call her and her fortune his own.
When left in the parlor, as we related,
ho hurried from the house with a throb?
bing heart and burning brain. He had
not dreamed that the marriage was to be
so sudden ; and all that day he had pray?
ed to the evil spirits he worshipped to
guide lead or steel to the heart of his ri?
val. Now he saw him returned trium?
phant, a victor and a bridegroom ! He
hastened to do what his wicked mind bad
long been plotting. Ere many minutes
had passed he stood in the private office
of an apothecary and chemist, a lean and
withered old miser, who looked upon all
mankind as so many vermin, deeming
gold the only valuable thing on earth, so
said report, and St. Maur believed it.?
"Who can explain the insanity of such av
avice? for Carlo Berbi made no use of his
wealth save to gloat over it in grim soli?
"I have come for the almond," said
Henry, as the chemist raised his small
black eyes to his.
" Have you brought the price, young
Henry threw a purse upon the table.
Carlo counted out the yellow coins, one
by one, trying the weight and ring of
each, until he had numbered a hundred.
" Higlit," said ho, as swept themintohis
pouch, and stowed that into his bosom.
" I only wish I could sell a sack of doub?
le almonds at that price."
Carlo Berbi then produced a large alm?
ond, neatly halved, and containing twin
kernels, one of which was clipped at each
" Whoever swallows this," said the Ital?
ian, holding up tho marked almond,
(idocs himself no harm; but I would not
be he who shall cat the other. Do not
make a mistake."
:' Never fear," said Henry, as the chem?
ist glued the halves together. But how
long does it take to effect its purpose ?
" Three hours, and leaves no trace, my
young friend. You ordered this to be
made ready three weeks ago and as you
have not called for it, I began to think
that your courage had failed."
" The time had not arrived," said Hen?
ry, as he placed the almond in his vest.
:! But, tell me, old man, havo wo not met
:' "Where, until three weeks since V
II In Italy, where I lived seme five
years ago. There is an air?a tore in
your voice that reminds me of some one
that I once knew in Homo," said Hcnry
"Ah ! I had a relative there; perhaps
you knew her," said Carlo, gazing sharp?
ly into his face. " She was very beauti?
ful, all said, and her name was Bianca,
tho Flower Girl."
St. Maur grow ashy pale, but in a mo?
ment he replied, <: I bave seen her. "What
has become of her?"
c: She is dead I She gavo her love to
some young and heartless villian. He
deserted her, and she died some twelve
months or so ago. The destroyer of her
young life was a German Count, I have
heard. He had left liomo three or four
years before Bianca died in my arms. I
wish I could find the scoundrel. So long
as Bianca lived sho loved him, but now
that she is no more, I think that I would
give all my gold to havo an Italian's ven?
" And justly, too," said Henry, " the
reprobate ! "Well, good night."
" Good night, my young frierid. Do
not eat tho unmarked almond."
" Not I, indeed," laughed the heartless
Henry, as he turned and sped rapidly
"When he again stood in his uncile's
house, it was thronged with guest?, among
whom he was soon scattering jest ?and
" Ha!" said his old uncle, as he met
him near the center of the main parlor,
" you arc a laggard again. William and
Clara became man and wife just five min?
" I claim a kiss from tho bride," said
Henry, as he saluted the new-made wife,
and then grasped the hand of the happj
" I wish you a hundred years of mutu?
al joy, Couain Clara?and you too, Wil?
liam," said he, with smiling lips and dev?
il's heart; and all that jubilant evening,
who so gay as Henry St. Maur ?
At length the festive time came on, and
sparkling wine and wit, over frosted cake
and dainty viands, ruled the hour. Then
said Henry St. Maur, as he filled a plate
with almonds, ?; Come, Cousin Will, since
we arc newly-made kinsmen, cat a phil
opcena with me; and who loses shall for?
feit to the bride."
"Agreed," laughed the joyous bride?
groom. " Seek a double almond."
<; Ah ! I am sure 1 have one here," said
Henry, crushing the almond for which
he had paid in gold. " This is yours now!
we cat together and forfeit singly."
All unsuspecting, the gallant young
warrior, nearer death than when British
bullets had fanned his manly check that
morn, ate the unmarked almond kernel;
while St. Maur, half unconscious of the
act, so fierce were the guilty throbbings
of his heart, swallowed the other kernel.
Two hours after, when Henry stood
aloof, watching the bride and her spouse
as they moved in grace and joy in the
lively dance, a servant approached him
and told him some one wished to sec him
at the street door. Henry impatiently
followed the call, for he had hoped to see
that handsome face grow deadly pale, that
manly form relaxed into sudden death,
and to hear the crash of his rival's fall, at
the very feet of his blooming, blushing
bride. He found Carlo Bcrbi at the
" You did not eat the unmarked ker
nal!" asked the old Italian, eagerly.
"No, I ate the one chipped at the ends,
replied the traitor.
" It is well," said Carlo. " Xow go
read this;" and. as he spoke, he placed a
billet in his hand and hurried away.
Carelessly, for his mind was upon the
bridegroom, Henry St. Maur opened the
note as he entered the hall again, and
read these words:'
"With her last breath, Bianca told me
the name of her destroyer. She knew
not what she told, fbrjjdclirium ruled her
speech. She said the truo name of the
pretended German Count was Henry St.
Maur. of New Orleans. I -sought that
villain?I found him in 3*011?your like?
ness, so long worn on the bosom of Bian?
ca guided me in my search. Bianca is
avenged, for Henry St. Maur shall not live
to sec to-morrow's sun. He has swallow?
ed the poisoned almond !
" BIAXCA'S FATHER."
How pale, how ghastly looked Henry
St. Maur then ! What sight so pitablc
as the traitor strangled by his own treach?
ery ? He said not a word. He fled to
house of the chemist; tho door was bar?
red, he clamored in vain. When tho next
day came, the corpse of Henry St. Maur
lay cold and start upon the ground, and
the letter which the icy hand grasped, re?
vealed the mystery.
Bianca's father was never more seen in
New Orleans. His task was done.
An exchange paper asks, very innocent?
ly, " is it any harm for young ladies to sit
in the lapse of ages ?" Another replies,
that " it all depends on the kind of ages
selected." Those from eighteen to twen?
ty-five it puts down as extra hazardous.
A wag was once heard to say, that tho
^difference between the southern and north?
ern people is, those in the South never sell
anything they can cat, while those in the
North never oat anything they can sell.
That's So.?A distinguished wag about
town says the head coverings the ladies
wear now-a-days are bare-faced falsehoods.
The perpetrator of this is still at large.
Miss Tucker says it's with old bache?
lors as with old wool; it is hard to get
them started, but when they do take
flame, they burn prodigiously.
"What did you give for that horse
neighbor?" "My note." "Well, that
Why is a newspaper like the blood of a
healthy man ? Because very much depends
upon the circulation.
We pass our lives in regretting the
past, complaining of the present, and in?
dulging false hopes of the future.
By preparing for the worst, you may
often compass the best
From the Home Journal.
BY AN IRRITABLE MAN.
" My dear," I said to the lady who was
seated opposite to me at the breakfast-ta?
ble, and who has the good fortune to be
my wife, " if there be one thing I dislike
more than another, it is to receive a cup
of coffee that looks as if it had been
sipped from before it reached my hands.
Have I not often asked 3-011 to fill my cup
to within an eighth of an inch of the rim,
and not give it to me half or three quar?
ters full ? " ?
" You arc as particular as an old bach?
elor," the estimable lady replied, "and if
I had known it before I married you, this
day would not have seen me your wife.
There, sir, is your cup of coffee. I hope
it will suit you."
"Good gracious!" I exclaimed, as I
took the cup, " now you've managed to
run it over. You certainly must be aware
that if there be one thing I dislike more
than another, it is to find slops in my
" Well, if you will insist on my filling
the cup you must expect that sometimes
I shall spill it over; besides, your finding
fault with me does no good, but makes me
nervous, and causes my hand to tremble,
so that I only wonder there is any coffee
left in the cup. But here is- a clean sau?
cer, in place of the one you have."
Having affected this important change,
I tasted the contents of my cup. It was
evident to me that there was no sugar in
it. I tasted it again to make certain of
the fact. Then I said to her:
" You have neglected to put sugar into
my coffee. If there be one thing I dislike
more than another, it is coffee unsweet?
'?I am certain," replied my estimable
spouse, " that I did sweeten it. I don't
think you have stirred it."
" But I know I have," I answered.
"Not with your spoon," said the pro?
voking woman, "for it is perfectly dry;
perhaps, however, you used your fork."
"Pshaw I" was all the answer I vouch?
safed to this remark.
?? Now, I declare," I said, after having
stirred and sipped my coffee, " you have
made it too svfCct. If there is one thing
I dislike more than another, it is to have
my coffee .asic like sirup."
" Let me put more milk with it, then ?"
said the obliging woman.
" No, I thank you." I replied, " I don't
care to have my stomach turned into a
dairy. If there be one tiling I dislike
more than another, it is milk. I gave up
milk diet when I cut my first teeth."
"It is to be hoped that you will give
up the habit of fault-finding, which you
possess in an eminent degree, when you
come to cut your wisdom teeth, though
no one can tell when that will be."
"Thank you," I replied; "3-011 will
probably b2 the first who will know it
"And a happy da}- it will be for mo,"
she answered, with provoking calmness.
" Few know, though, how much unhappi
ncss j*our constant fault-finding causes
me. Nothing I do seems to give~3*ou sat?
isfaction. There isn't a moment elapses,
while you are in tho house, save when
you're asleep, but }rou arc thus occupied.
The truth is, I have always been too in?
dulgent with you, and humor you when I
ought not. I did not commence right in
the first place. I should have paid no at?
tention to 3*0ur whims, but studied ni3'
-own convenience and comfort, instead of
seeking to make everything smooth and
pleasant for }*ou. Then I would have
got along much better. Oh, 3'ou men are
Treat tyrants; and if a woman yields to
you in tho least, 3*ou follow up your ad?
vantage, and bend her will to }*ours, and
crush her spirit to the earth; till, by and
1)3-, you break her heart."
" M3- dear, I will thank you for another
cup of coficc," I said, passing my cup to
her; " but be careful not to run it over,
nor go; it too sweet, nor put in too much
milk. What an intolerable steak this is,"
I added; 'it is tough enough to have
been cut from one of tho cattle pastured
upon a thousand hills, more than a thou?
sand years ago. If there bo one thing I
dislike more than another, it is a tough
" You ordered it yourself, from the
market, so you needn't find fault with me
on account of it. I knew it was tough
the moment I looked at it."
" Then why didn't 3-ou send it back ? "
"Because, as it was your selection, I
supposed you wanted a tough one; be?
sides, if I had returned it, yon would have
found fault with mc for doing so."
? Well, I can't cat it, that's certain," I
said; " so it had better be taken off of the
table. I shan't throw any more money
away on beefsteaks.''
" Oh, it will answer for hash," said my
economical wife, "and you can have it
i? . ? ?
" Hash!" I exclaimed. " If there be
one thing I dislike more than another, it
is hash. Hash i? only fit for children and
old people without teeth. Besides, it is a
popular dish at b?arding-schools and
boarding-houses; and when I was a boy,
and afterward while a bachelor, I ate my
share of it, and I'm not going to cat any
more.. No, wo will have a turkey for
" Very well," said my spouse, " a turkey
let it be. Shall I see to getting one ?"
" I think not," I answered.' " The fact
is, that all the turkeys you select turn out
to be like the celebrated one of which Job
was tho reputed owner?poor and tough.
No, I'll buy the turkey, and you can cook
"Very well," said the impertarable
"But how will you have it cooked?"
"Oh, any way; suit yourself;" I an?
" Then I think I will roast it," she re?
"Boast it?' I exclaimed. "That is
just like you. Now, you know if there
be one thing I dislike more than another,
it is to have a turkey roasted."
" Very well, then," said tho accommo?
dating woman, " I will boil it."
"Boil it!" I said, aghast. "Boil soup,
boil lamb chops, boil cherries, if you like,
but never, ior me, boil a turkey."
" Pray, then, how will you have it cook?
ed ? Only tell me, and it shall bo done."
" Why?why?well?fricaseo it, of
course," I answered, triumphantly.
" Very well," said the lady, looking,
however, as if it were not very well.
" Why can't you say something else be?
sides very well ?'" I asked. " What a
provoking woman you arc, to be sure."
" Not half as provoking as you are,"
Now, then, you wish to mako me an?
gry, I suppose; but you can't do it. I
have put up with everything all through
breakfast, and I am not going to bo yvo
voked just as J am finishing."
" I am sure 1 do not wish to provoke
you," my wife said, in a most innocent
and aggrieved manner.
" But you most certainly do provoke
me," I replied. **
" Then I am sorry for it," she answer?
ed, in a softened tone, "for such was not
I looked across the table at my wife;
something like a tear rolled down her
"Goodness!" I whispered to myself,
:; I have made my wife weep. What?a
what?a?brute I am."
Then, speaking aloud, exclaimed:
Well," was her calm reply.
" Do you know," I continued, " that if
there be one thing I dislike more than an?
other, it is a tear."
She answered simply with a sad smile.
<: Sweetheart," I said.
" Well ?"
" Cook the turkey any way you please."
She shook her head.
I left my scat, (having finished my
breakfast,) went to her side, and, smooth?
ing her pale, wan cheek with my hand,
kissed it, and said :
" Forgive me, dear, this time."
She smiled dubiously, as if " this time"
was only one out of the " seventy-times
seven " which she would be called on to
forgive during our matrimonial career;
but, nevertheless, the pressure of her
hand, which I had taken, assured me that
pcaco was made.
A Supernatural Premonition.
I was 'running a night express train,
and had a train often cars?eight passen?
ger and two baggage cars?and all were
well loaded. I was bei ind time, and was
very anxious to make a certain point;
thus I was using every exertion, and put?
ting the engine to the utmost speed to
whickshe was capable. M. was on a sec?
tion of the road unusually considered the
best-running ground on the line, and was
endeavoring to mako the most of it, when
a conviction struck me that I must stop.
A something seemed to tell me that to
go ahead was dangerous, and that I must
stop if I would save my life. I looked
back at my train, and it was all right. I
strained my eyes and peered into the
darkness, and could sec no signal of dan?
ger, nor anything betokening danger, and
there I could see five miles in tho day
time. I listened to the workings of the
engine, tried the-water, looked at the
guage, and all was right. I tried to
laugh myself out of what I then consider?
ed to be a childish fear; but like Banquo's
ghost, it would not down at my bidding,
but grew stronger in its hold Upon me.
I thought of the ridicule I would have
heaped upon me if 1 did stop, but it was
all of no avail. The conviction?for by
this time it had ripened into a conviction
?that I must stop grew stronger ;>srnd I
shut off and blew tho whistle for breakers^
accordingly. I came to a dead halt, got v
off, and went ahead a little way, without
saying anything to anybody what the
matter was. I had a lamp in my hand,
and had gone about sixty feet, when I
saw what-convinced me that premonitions
are sometimes possible. I dropped the
lantern from my nerveless grasp, and sat
down on the track, utterly unable to stand;
for there was a switch, the thought of
which had never entered my mind, as it
had never been used since I had been on
the road, as it was known to be spiked,
but was open to lead mo off the track.
This switch led into a stone quary, from
whence stone for bridge purposes had
been quarried, and the switch was left
there in case stone should be needed at
any time; but it was always locked, and
the switch rail spiked.
Yet here it, was wide open; and, had I
not obeyed my premonition, warning?
call it what you will?I should have run
into it, and at the end of the track, only
about ten rods long, my heavy engine
and train, moving at tho rate of thirty
miles per hour, would have come into col?
lision with a solid wall of rock, eighteen
feet high. The consequences, had I
done so, can neither be imagined nor de
sribed; but they could, by no possibility,
have been otherwise than fatally horrid.
This is my experience in getting warnings
from a source that I know not, and can?
not divine. It is a mystery to me; a
mystery for which I am very thankful,
however, although I dare not attempt to
explain it, nor say whence it came.
A Hole in the Pocket.
A great many men have a- hole in the
pocket, and so lose all the little change
they put in it. And the worst of it is, they
do not know it; if they did, they could
mend up the hole, and so put an end to tho
loss. Every day they are minus a few
dimes, and they wonder how they come
so short. "When the bills arc paid, they
cannot imagine how they come to be so
short of the change. At the end of the
year, they arc surprised to find so poor a
footing up. They work hard, rack their -
brains on plans, and still they do not get
ahead much. Bills accumulate, income
diminishes, and still they do not discover
the holo in the pocket.
v One man has bad fences, gates, and
barns. The cattle break through every
now and then, and destroy crops, and ho
occupies time in driving them out. Tho
pigs creep through the holes. The horses
get away. Tho boys and men and ser?
vants and dogs are kept on the run after
roguish cows and jumping horses and
climbing hogs. The stock becomes unca
sy, and does not thrive. The crops aro
injured. The fences arc broken down.
Time is consumed. Tho. trouble is. that
man has a hole in the pocket. One man
has no sheds, nor barns, nor granaries,
nor t?ol-houses. His grain] is much in?
jured and wasfed. The ra.s eat his corn,
and the damp weather molds it. His po?
tatoes rot. His pumpkins are destroyed.
His fruit docs but little good. His tools
arc rotted and rusted.in the open weather.
His stock is chilled and stunted for want
of shelter. His trouble is a hole in his 1
pocket, out of which slip all his profits,
with much of the fruits of his bard labor.
One ma#j has poor plows of the senile
stamp of his ancestors. He cannot afford a
modern plow. Ho docs net believe in
subsoiling. Draining is the nonsense of
scientific fools. Drills are a humbug.?
Deep plowing would spoil the land. -So
he plows and sows as his grandfather did,
on the worn out soil of his venerable an?
cestors. He has a hole in his pocket, and
will have it till he wakes np to tho im?
portance of good tools and good culture of
himself and soil.
One man does not take a paper; cannot
afford it; has no time to read; does not
believe in book-farming; likes the old
ways best; denies all tho stories ho hasQ
heard from rumor about large cattle and
crops and profits; does not believe in new
notions. For forty years he has planted
his corn on the same ground; sown wheat
in the same field; pastured the same land.
He has heard of rotation of crops, but
does not know what it means, nor cares to
know. A hole has this man in his pock?
And who hasnot got a hole in his pock?
et? Header, have nofr you? Look and
see. Is there not some way in which you
let slip the dimes you might better save ?
some way in which waste time andstrength
and mind ? If so, then you have a holo
in your pocket. Indeed, many a man's
pocket is like a seive. Whose pocket is
a treasuiy, safe and sure ??TaUey Farmer.
Duttes.?About ten thousand dollars
were collected at Yicksburg, Miss., on
Tuesday?amount of duties on goods